Those Years we Weren't in Slytherin
by quietGOLD
Summary: "Broom cupboards are - generally -  used for brooms," she says. He laughs, "that's rubbish. They're generally used for something, but it hasn't anything to do with brooms."
1. Chapter 1

**FIRST**

The first time he sees her is on the train platform.

The family of red heads draws his attention, for he has never seen such insipidly coloured hair as _theirs'. _It's molten and curly and _everywhere _and all he can think is: _why don't they _do _something about it? _His eyes follow them as they bustle their way across the platform, drawing ever closer.

And there is a young girl about his age at the front, all eagerness and red curls that spiral and twirl about her face. He can't help but think that they most likely get in the way when – of course – they fall into her eyes and snap about her cheeks as if they were alive.

Someone bustles past her – an older boy with a scraggy mess of dark hair and a mischievous grin on his lips. She hollers after him in anger, her fingers tugging desperately at the loose strands that snarl like dragons.

"James!" She shouts, her cheeks flushing a darker red than her hair.

His lip twitches in utter fascination.

And eventually his father notices what he is looking at. A cool hand rests upon his shoulder, fingers tight and squeezing and pulling. "You now see what poverty looks like, Scorpius. Now look away."

He does, but only because his father's hand turns him into an embrace. "Who are they?" he asks, trying desperately not to suffocate on his father's dress robes; the loose fabric sucks at his mouth and nose as if it were hexed. He wants to cough and choke, but he refrains.

"Those are the _Weasleys... _and the _Potters,_" his father mutters, and he pulls Scorpius away so as to look him in the eye – the boy sputters as the hem of the coat is pulled free of his face. "They will be in Gryffindor... And you will be in Slytherin. I would have you not bother yourself with them."

_But what if I'm not placed in Slytherin? _He wants to ask.

"But -"

His mother is suddenly there, clutching him to her in much the same manner his father had. Although her embrace is not unwelcome for her dress does not try to smother him with its oversized lapels and careful stitching. He clings to her for a sudden and overwhelming trepidation consumes him.

"What if I am not placed in Slytherin?" He asks.

His father scoffs.

"Nonsense."

The word is meant to be reassuring.

_It's not. _

And the questions hangs awkwardly between them all. He can feel his father's confidence, but his mother – _oh, _his mother. She wipes at her eyes and pats at her own cheeks with such fluttery hands that he can't help but wonder if she's gone mental; until he realizes she is only bothering after him and impressing his father.

The _Hogwarts Express _lets out a single whistle, and he gives his mother and father one last hug before he goes to board the train.

"Scorpius," his father says. He turns to regard the willowy man that stands detached from his wife. They both stare at him, although his father tries to hide the adoration in his eyes whereas his mother simply beams with it.

"Make the Malfoys proud."

_Sod. _

* * *

><p>The Sorting Hat is wretched, he decides. It speaks too much and sorts too little. It is almost like the gaggle of first years he'd shared a compartment with on the train; <em>Scamand-something <em>and _Longbottom. _

They had chatted away for what seemed like hours, amicable and boisterous and ascending insofar in their noise-making as to draw several prefects by their compartment.

_"Stop this nonsense," _they had shouted over the unfathomable din of the three children. "_Stop this at once!"_

It hadn't worked.

And the Sorting Hat isn't any less talkative – perhaps the only difference laying in the thoughtful expression and furrowing brow that conjures impressions of wit and wisdom. It purses false lips – mere folds in the dusty old fabric – and mutters to the poor sod that quakes under its scrutiny.

Then it shouts a house and looks of terror are replaced with joy or... well, terror.

Scorpius shifts uncomfortably, yet tries to maintain the air often possessed of a Malfoy – calm assurance.

He'll be fine, he tells himself.

The Sorting Hat hasn't placed anyone in Slytherin as of yet, and this leaves a sour flavour on his tongue that he tries to ignore. He _knows _where he'll be placed, just as his father had known and his grandfather.

He watches as several more students are called up, and each one's face of determination transforms into something akin to horror. The Sorting Hat mutters.

"_Gryffindor!"_

_"Hufflepuff!"_

_"Ravenclaw!"_

"Malfoy, Scorpius!" Professor Longbottom – ah, now he knows where those awful whelps originate from – beckons him towards the moldy hat and its pedestal of horror.

He walks towards it, and the moment he sits down he feels that calm assurance break away and an unkempt, irrational flood of terror falls upon him. His jaw clenches and he shuts his eyes. Slytherin, he thinks to himself.

Slytherin.

"Really?" The Hat asks, wiggling on his head. "You think you'd belong there? In Slytherin?"

"Well, you have to have a Slytherin at some point tonight," Scorpius replies in a whisper.

"I suppose -" the Hat murmurs – "but you're clever. And brave. And... loyal."

"I'll stuff you down a drain if you put me in Hufflepuff."

He remembered his father's disdain for Hufflepuff.

"_Hufflepuff is for duffers and people too stupid to _live_."_

The Sorting Hat was quiet at this. "But, I suppose you _are _cunning and ambitious," it thinks to redirect Scorpius' attention from drains to Houses. "You possess every quality of a good Slytherin..."

Scorpius smirks, his eyes open.

"_But," _the Hat begins. "You possess something more -"

"-What?"

"You possess something more. Something that would only be nurtured and seen to fruition in a different house."

Scorpius feel as if his heart is sinking and falling; it feel as if he is on fire. "No, but I don't want _more. _I want to be perfectly mediocre in Slytherin. I needn't any chance at greatness-"

"_Gryffindor!" _The Sorting Hat shouts

He feels the Sorting Hat wiggle free from his head, and a soft hand urge him away from the stool. His feet feel as if they are of lead, and his eyes are stinging in a way he can only trace back to a time when he broke his arm at age seven. He doesn't even remember making it to the Gryffindor table, or the rest of the sorting – except that a dark haired young man and several red headed witches and wizards his own age sit about him.

"You should eat," says a soft voice a while later and he looks up to find himself staring at the same red haired girl from the train platform. Her hair still curls and flutters and snaps; he can't stop staring at it.

"I'm not hungry..." And then as an afterthought. "_Weasley."_

She ignores his jab, glances at his blond hair and remarks: "shouldn't you be in Slytherin?"

It hurts more than he can bear. "I suppose not."

He glowers at her from his seat at the table. Her and her curly red hair and freckles; he wonders briefly if she dislikes her red hair as much as it bothers him.

He decides he doesn't like it at all.

"Scorpius," he starts as he grabs at a bread roll. "Scorpius Malfoy."

"I know," she responds.

She doesn't say anything else.

**END FIRST**

* * *

><p>I'm writing this seven part series to boost my muse and familiarize myself with how I want to depict certain characters in later works. Feel free to offer constructive criticism or pleasant support.<p>

I also enjoy the occasional grovelling.


	2. Chapter 2

**SECOND**

Rose has never really paid Scorpius Malfoy _too _much mind; not until today. And it is with quiet determination that she decides she doesn't quite like him.

Over the past year and a half of being in the same house and witnessing the mischief that he and Albus manage, she has decided he is most definitely a disagreeable person. And it certainly doesn't help that his hair is _nearly _white.

She can already hear her mother chastising her for _judging a book by its cover. _Yet she knows her father would be smiling and applauding and cheering as any Weasley _should. _She can still remember seeing the boy across the platform and wondering if they'd be friends – and then of course the encouragement from her father to botch the boy's chances at success.

In everything.

And she thinks of this now as they sit beside one another in Potions class – an unfortunate assignation. His cauldron perfectly simmering, while her's spits and bubbles and toils like some ill thing.

She wonders where she went wrong and he went _right. _

And how could he have gone _right? _

How could he have succeeded where she failed?

_'Rose Weasley _is _the cleverest witch in our year,' _they say. Which, in her opinion isn't saying much since her classmates still think the opposite sex is _dreadfully disgusting_ and Lorcan Scamander _still _enjoys talking about bogeys and how far he can stick his finger in his nose.

_But, _it is her greatest achievement thus far at Hogwarts – not including beating Scorpius Malfoy at everything.

Except, apparently – potions.

"Better luck next time, Weasley."

She shakes herself from her thoughts to glare at Malfoy, who is currently staring down at her cauldron in a mix of disdain and amusement.

"It's _not _finished!" She growls out, her pride injured and her vanity suffering under his acknowledgment. She shifts her back to him to block the view of her greatest failure.

She hears a chuckle and glances sideways at her cousin, Albus. He's grinning from across the room where he has been paired with Lorcan Scamander – someone Rose finds preferable to Malfoy at that precise moment.

She waves, but his grin fails and he shakes his head. And then – to her greatest horror and indignation – points to _Malfoy. _

Botched by her own blood!

Rose sinks into her seat in defeat, feeling her distaste for one Scorpius Malfoy come to a full broil as Albus and Malfoy begin communicating in some queer method only males are truly capable of. She simmers slightly where she sits, wondering how she can possibly recover her failed potion while also trying to think of an appropriate hex for her cousin and his friend.

Rose glances down at the table – several loose lacewings are scattered near Malfoy's cauldron. Forgotten.

She scoops the lacewings up and ignores the chastising voice of her mother ringing in her mind and listens only to the chanting and cheering and hollering encouragements of her father.

Rose has never been a particularly vindictive person, but today -

She tosses the lacewings into Malfoy's cauldron.

And rather than curdle, the thing has the audacity to _explode._

* * *

><p>Professor Slughorn is as ancient as the texts they're sorting.<p>

And he drones on for nearly as long as they do, murmuring and gushing and even so far as _congratulating _them both on their _choice _of family.

"Your mother was quite a clever witch, you know – _and _she helped Harry Potter defeat _You-Know-Who."_

_Oh, _Rose wants to ask. _Who? _

Instead she stares drearily at the stack of dusty tomes that lean and wobble overhead. Her wrist has already started to ache from the amount of _reparo _charms she's used on the vast collection of torn, shredded and vandalized library books.

"And your father, Mister Malfoy – oh, he certainly managed to throw his luck in with the wrong lot to be sure. A truly infamous wizard – it is a shame really I never did _collect _him."

Rose looks down at the book she's murmuring charms over, causing her hair to fall between her and Scorpius Malfoy's furious glare. She's not entirely sure if he's mad about detention or Slughorn or both. She shoves her knuckles into her mouth to stifle a laugh, the sight of his once _perfect _hair crisp and burning and _flashing _the colours of the rainbow leaving her with little regret for their most unfortunate _detention.  
><em>

Her own hair – generally a wild and twisting and curling thing – lies limply against her cheek and seemingly mocks Scorpius Malfoy by flashing and changing in time with his.

_Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet._

The smell of burnt hair and smoking linen is thick in the air.

Of course, she hadn't really known that Malfoy's potion would _explode _and nearly immolate the entire class. When Slughorn had finally managed to shuffle over, coughing and wheezing and rubbing at his burning hair he had asked the two what exactly had gone wrong – and they had pointed at one another.

Of course, Malfoy had denied everything – as had she. It was an coup that went on for nearly fifteen minutes before the potions master had given in. Detention had been his only alternative, although he had made it seem like a public service rather than punishment, and had professed on several occasions thereafter how sorry he was to make them do it.

_"Dreadfully sorry to do this... You know how much I respected your mother, Miss Weasley... But there are quite a few books in the Library that need repairing and... oh, it'd be a great service."_

Eventually the Professor drifts away, still murmuring and creaking as he shuffles off to talk to the hawking Madam Pince. Her expression sharpens the moment he begins to chatter away, and Rose cannot help but feel sorry for her – Madam Pince's intensity for the library has always sat right with her, and Slughorn's aptitude to ramble on never has.

"You're going to pay for this, _Weasley," _Rose finally brushes her flashing hair away to stare openly at Scorpius Malfoy.

"What ever do you mean, Malfoy?" She asks, trying desperately to sound _sincerely _confused.

"_My _potion was perfect, there was no reason why it would have _exploded _unless someone -"

"Well, I suppose it _wasn't _perfect."

"-unless someone tampered with it."

Rose stares at him – he glares back.

And then his lips curl ever so slightly, and it is decidedly a Slytherin expression. She nearly wonders aloud why he wasn't placed in Slytherin, yet even in her youth – where quite often the most hurtful words are wielded with repugnant joy – she daren't utter such humiliating questions. She remembers quite vividly during first year when Albus and Scorpius had had several weeks of hostility, kindled and fed by her cousin's lacking empathy.

"_Why don't you just go back to Slytherin, where you belong!" _

They hadn't spoken for weeks and considering Malfoy's sensitivity when it came to the subject of his Family's long line of Slytherins, it wasn't surprising.

Through gritted teeth she whispers; "I did not tamper with your potion."

"Oh really?" He asks, his expression belying his disbelieving words. No, her certainly does not believe her.

Rose's voice fails; she nods.

"It had nothing to do with the fact _my _potion was better than yours?" He smirks as he says this – and it drives her _mental._

While Rose had inherited her mother's brains and feminine wiles, she certainly didn't receive only her red hair from her father – anger is kindled in her heart, and it flares to life instantly at the tone in which Scorpius Malfoy flaunts his _superior potion. _

"My potion was _perfect," _she utters.

"Because the _cleverest witch in our year _can't be bested, can she?"

"My. Potion. Was. Perfect," her teeth begin to hurt she grits them so tight.

And then he scoffs.

_Scoffs. _

And she can't help but think of when she was eight, and her brother Hugo had abandoned her for James, Albus, Teddy and Fred. She remembers how the four boys, older and younger, had sought to bully her and Lily and Molly.

She had socked Teddy in the nose only because he wasn't related by blood. She had seen red – vivid and beautiful and easy red. Only later, when her Mother and Father had sat her down to discuss her misconduct had she realized she should have bloodied the lot of them, and not just Teddy Lupin. Her mother had given her a sound chastising for it, but her father had howled with laughter at her hindsight.

"_Rose, you should never give in to bullying," _her mother had said.

"_Although it was a good right hook, eh Rosie?"_

"_Ron!" _

She remembers it with such clarity.

Of course, her mother's words of wisdom are lost once more – and she reaches across the table and socks Scorpius Malfoy right on the nose.

**END SECOND**

* * *

><p>Thanks to everyone who has been supporting this fanfiction. Please review!<br>Also, my tumblr account - which can be found on my profile - is quite often updated with sneak peeks or previews to this story as well as my original fictions and other stories I may write!


	3. Chapter 3

**THIRD**

Rose hates Quidditch.

Well, it's not so much that she _hates _Quidditch, as she does the blokes who play it. Or rather, the insufferable gits who think women aren't nearly as sound at the game as men.

"I thought we were living in the twenty-first century!" she hisses to her cousin, James Potter. The older boy at least has the decency to look embarrassed. "Holyhead Harpies? Hullo?"

"It's not that you're... you know -"

"A _girl_?" She supplies with a growl.

Christopher Wood sits nearby, his hands cupped suggestively around his chest – the only thing she thinks is; _thank god he's not my cousin or I'd box him one. _

"- it's just that..." James tries to stand, but Rose quickly pushes him back onto the plush sofa of the Gryffindor common room – which, at that very moment, is vacant of any other students.

She sighs in frustration and turns to Christopher Wood. "Why aren't you the one telling me _why _I'm not on the Quidditch team? Aren't you the bloody Captain?" His hands drop into his lap and his cheeks speckle with pink. James shakes his head at his friend and captain's silence and waves Rose's attention back to him.

"_I'm _telling you because you'd kill Wood if he did."

She scoffs. She hardly thinks she is _that _unreasonable; certainly she takes after her father, and quite often harbours a vicious temper, but she likes to think she can control herself in _most _situations.

"Tell me what?"

James glances at Wood, and he at James. The two of them rub the back of their necks simultaneously, attesting to their constant friendship over their five years at Hogwarts. Wood coughs and looks away.

James sighs.

Rose wants to pummel them both.

"Well, it's just – we only have one seeker position to fill and... – well, he's much better-"

_He?_

"_Who, _James_?"_

She doesn't really know why she asked when it's obvious by how much care the two boys took to bring her here to the common room, and ensure it was empty – and, she notices, void of anything _breakable._ She can already _taste_ his name on the tip of her tongue. She can already hear James saying it, even before his lips form the name.

"Scorpius Malfoy."

There is silence. Both James and Wood have shrunk back upon the couch, eyes wide as they watch for her reaction.

"You're right," she says coolly. "It is a good thing _you_told me, James Sirius Potter... Because at least I won't feel so bad when I write home to mum and dad to tell them where your body is."

* * *

><p>In third year, Rose is angry. A lot.<p>

"_It's just a stage," _her mother would often explain. _"Your father went through it too." _

"_She's right, Rosie – Hey, what? No." _

A stage – completely and utterly encouraged by one, Scorpius Malfoy.

She tries – she truly does – and it never seems to be enough. Oh, certainly she is superior in _most _things, but the things that matter are the ones in which she surmounts to little more than _second place. _

First it had been Potions – and while it had certainly been shocking that his potion – and subsequently, all of his potions - had been _perfect _she had quickly sought to fix that. The entire incident – and thereafter – certainly hadn't won her any of his favour, but rather – his ire. Afterward it seemed as if the proverbial gauntlet had been thrown down; Malfoy took it upon himself to crush her in everything and to do so with the arrogance most characteristic of the Malfoys.

While they have always challenged one another in most classes – with the exception to his remarkable ability in Potions and her own in Arithmancy –, Quidditch comes as a shock.

And it hurt the most.

It has always been something she's shared with her father – asides from a quick temper and red hair. He'd told her to try out for the house team the moment a position was open.

"_It's in your blood, Rosie. You'll be brilliant." _

She had tried out, and she _had _been bloody brilliant; she would have even made Uncle Charlie proud. But, according to her git of a cousin and his troll of a best friend and captain, Scoripus Hyperion Malfoy had been _exceptional. _

She, of course, couldn't believe it.

She _can't _believe it, even still as they all sit about the stands and watch the first practice of the year. She feels like a cheer leader of some sort, red haired and freckled and wearing a knit-sweater sporting an obnoxious _'R';_every player on the field sports one of the three, at least.

"Oh, blimey. He _is _good." Rose casts a glance at her cousin, Dominique. The girl is in the same year as her, far more hormonal _and _absolutely beautiful. Dom was definitely the first girl in their year to snog a boy; and she'd had suitors lining up ever since. She was still very particular though, which Rose found to be admirable. "Absolutely dreamy."

"_Who?_" Rose demands, trying to follow Dominique's zealous stare to whichever bloke she's lusting after. The blonde girl nearly pushes her off the stands when Rose's curly hair manages to block her line of sight of her ambitions.

"Him," she murmurs, peering through her cousin's twisting and spiraling locks like some whimsical fairy. She breathes a sigh against Rose's cheek and murmurs sweet nothings like some love sick fiend. It's terrifying and Rose considers for a moment that she's been confunded or charmed or has had a love potion slipped into her pumpkin juice.

After several more moments of dreamy sighing, Rose somehow manages to determine that the only persons on the team Dom could possibly be fawning after and with whom she isn't related are: Eva Finnigan and... Scorpius Malfoy.

The latter seems impossible.

"You fancy Eva?"

Dom blinks; "what?"

"Eva?"

"No, you twit. I said _he. _Not _she." _

Rose gapes at her.

"No -"

"What?"

"You... fancy Malfoy?"

"Of course. Are you mental? Who did you... Rose! The only other options are Eva or... someone with red hair or freckles or a Grandmum Sweater... Whats wrong with you? Are you daft?"

"I just..-" Rose is speechless.

Of course, Dominique holds back no details on how she and Scorpius have been snogging for a week.

Rose nearly gags.

It is all really quite dramatic.

* * *

><p>And they break up a week later; it's huge and sticky and completely blown out of proportion by a wailing Dom who claims she actually <em>loved <em>him. The entire Gryffindor Common Room retreats in an attempt to escape the worst, and Fred and James offer earplugs or extendable ears – depending on a person's preference to avoid or immerse themselves in drama – and even take bets on who'll come out worse for wear.

Unquestionably, it is Dom who loses the battle.

Everyone in Gryffindor earns a few sickles at least.

It's all very insensitive.

Albus doesn't talk to Scorpius for hardly a day after, but they make up like two blokes often do – not really talking about feelings, but smacking one another on the shoulder and then settling down for a game of exploding snap.

"_I can't believe you snogged my cousin."_

_"Yeah."_

"_And then you called it off." _

"_... Yeah."_

"_You _called _it off."_

"_Mhm."_

"_That's like... being a man or somethin'... I don't even..."_

Rose, of course, overhears them one afternoon – and she simply _cannot _contain herself. Not with her cousin having only just stopped whimpering herself to sleep every night.

The moment the pair enter the common room she is up from her homework and blocking their path. Albus perks up at her appearance, "mind if I get your notes from Care of Magical Creatures? My quill broke and -"

"You honestly see nothing wrong with this situation?"

Scorpius covers his mouth with one hand. _Prat, _she thinks.

Albus looks confused, "listen here, my quill might-"

"No," she exclaims, shoving her hand at Scorpius. "You being all right as rain with this _git." _

"We're good, eh mate?" Albus asks Scorpius, who – in turn – nods.

"Aye, I'd say so."

"See," Albus turns back to Rose and shrugs. "We're good."

She can't even...

"Now, if you'll excuse me, maybe I'll just go and ask Evan for his notes while I wait for _you _to clamber down off your high and mighty broomstick-"

_Rose hates Quidditch. _

She pokes and prods him in the chest, eliciting a small _ow. _"You... I'd have thought better – truly. She's your _cousin _after-all. Y'know; _blood_. You might at least bloody this prat's nose before you forgive and forget. Shrug it off? You're a prat, Albus Severus Potter. Right now, you're a prat.

"And you," she turns her eyes on Scorpius, but he simply looks _smug. _Truly, that is the only word to describe the insufferable prat.

"And me?" He asks, his voice smooth like velvet and _taunting. _

She stares up at him and he back at her. She had originally intended to simply give the pair a sound tongue lashing, but Malfoy's arrogance – his confidence – is enough to drive her absolutely mental.

"You..." she pokes him once in the chest. "... You just.. – You just..."

"Just what?" He asks.

She nearly bloodies her tongue she bites it so hard.

"Just stay away from my cousins."

It's all she can get out really. Anymore and it might be a curse to make his hair pink, or a hex to have him fart rainbows. Albus would laugh his arse off, but only after her funeral, she imagines... – or maybe before with how this whole conversation has just gone. She wonders if Dom would cry, or applaud her bravery.

Dom...

"And..." she suddenly blurts out, "... and if I find out you used some silly love potion on Dom... I swear I'll make you eat slugs."

She storms off, huffing and puffing like a troll.

"Like I'd have to, Weasley!" Scorpius calls after her.

And for some reason this makes her even more upset.

**END THIRD  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Ah, the angst of being thirteen.<br>I remember that age so well.  
>I don't particularly recall <em>liking <em>that age,  
>but ya know... It happens to everyone.<p>

I'd like to say thanks again to everyone that reviewed the previous chapters. Encouraging words are always welcome!

And I'd encourage you again, to leave a review.


	4. Chapter 4

**FOURTH**

He remembers it clearly – the first letter he received after his first week of first year. His father's owl had dropped it tidily on his lap, and he had looked at the letter expecting it to rip itself open and howl. Surprisingly, it hadn't been a howler, but rather a concise note from his parents saying how proud they were.

He saw it as a farce. Scorpius had imagined there had been much shouting and rowing and stomping about as his father denied his ever siring of a _Gryffindor. _

Of course, when he had met his parents for Christmas that first year, his mother and father both _had _been smiling.

And his grandparents had not.

Afterward, after much hemming and hawing and suffering under the belittling commentary of his grandfather, Scorpius had found heading back to school a relief. His father had taken him aside before he had boarded the Hogwarts Express, and had said in a low voice: "_I _am _proud of you."  
><em>

Every year just before Christmas, he receives a letter telling him to come home for the holidays – and a quiet warning that his Grandparents will be present.

This year, however...

_Scorpius,_

_your Grandparents _will _be arriving for Christmas in several days.  
>Your grandfather seems very happy. They have invited some <em>select _guests, _

_and hope to introduce you to their youngest daughter._

_I wouldn't not advise you to miss it.  
><em>

_Love,_

_Mum. _

Scorpius stares down at the note, but it would seem a moment too long – his father's owl nips at his fingers. "Shove off, you ruddy chicken," he says, prodding the foul thing away. It takes an indignant step back, but doesn't leave.

It suits the Malfoys, undoubtedly.

"_Alright," _he mutters in exasperation, grabbing a piece of parchment and a loose quill from his book bag. The owl watches intently as he scrawls a simple note, a small reply;

_Sorry, mum. _

_Would of have loved to make it._

_Have plans._

_Give my regards to father's parents._

_Much love,_

_Scorpius. _

He reads the note over once more before he hands it to the owl. The bloody creature snatches it from his hands, gives him one last peck and then takes off into the rafters of the Great Hall before it disappears entirely.

"What was that about?" Albus asks from where he sit across from Scorpius. He has a copy of the Daily Prophet in his hands, and is currently drawing curious mustaches on some political figure or other – the man, whomever he may be, seems rather indignant at Albus' quill sketching across his face.

"Mum. My Grandparents are supposedly inviting guests to my parents flat for Christmas. She gave me an out."

"An _out_?" Fred Weasley is suddenly beside them. He grins wickedly at Scorpius, eyes wild. "I bet. Grandmum still tells us stories about your Grandfa- Ow, what the hell?"

Albus stares at his cousin.

Fred quiets.

Scorpius smirks – his grandfather had, on far too many occasions, told him many stories about the Weasleys. His grandmother often quiets at the mention of Molly Weasley. He can only imagine a dinner at the Weasleys, and how their own tales juxtapose the ones he grew up with.

Scorpius slides the note across the table to Al and Fred; the two boys lean in to read it. After a few moments, Fred looks up: "_Wouldn't _not?"

"That's nice of her... Curious wording and all," Al comments.

Scorpius nods, "yeah, mum's like that. _'If you can't figure it out, you deserve to be here.' _is what she'd say if I hadn't noticed her _careful wording."_

Albus laughs quietly and slides the piece of parchment back across the table. "Sometimes I wish I had the option to not spend _all _of Christmas with the entire Weasley Clan..."

"_Hey!" _comes a great uproar from every red haired, freckled or woolen sweater'd student at the table.

Al doesn't pay them any mind.

"_Wouldn't _not?" Fred repeats, still bewildered.

"So," Al asks. "What _is _the plan? You thinking of staying here?"

Scorpius shrugs, " I suppose."

"Well _that _settles it. You'll spend the holidays with me and mine," Al says it with such finality that Fred and Scorpius both stare at him as if he's grown a second head. "The Weasley clan is _huge. _I'd even go so far as to even say it's _vast. _You'd be welcome, undoubtedly – and probably overlooked amongst the rabble. Perfect for a Malfoy trying to escape the frivolity of his home life."

Scorpius nearly chokes with disdain, and laughs at the idea. He doesn't quite know what to think. He and Al have been the best of mates since their first week at Hogwarts, when they had awkwardly bonded over the awfulness of their full names, and yet, he had never spent more than a lick of a second with the other boy's parents. Oh sure, Scorpius was definitely a member of their _clan, _having found a niche with the assorted Potters and Weasleys, but he couldn't imagine spending Christmas with the entirety of them.

Particularly since his father and the Potters and Weasleys had always had bad blood.

"Send a letter to your father first," Scorpius offers weakly. Al gives a grin and Fred looks entirely _too _bewildered to even utter a word. "And if he says yes, then I'll come. If not... I'll stay here."

A part of him hopes Mister Potter will say no.

A _very large _part.

"Don't worry, Scor. He'll say yes."

Scorpius glares at him, entirely too familiar with Al's careful plotting to be entirely comfortable.

"And by Merlin's pants, you better tell him who I am, Potter. None of that sneaky business you wouldn't think a Gryffindor would resort to..."

Al just grins.

"They'll say yes, Scor. No worries."

* * *

><p>And they had said yes, but why wouldn't they? Heroes were never one to turn away the abject and forgotten; and while Scorpius certainly was neither of those, he imagined it looked less than ideal for a boy his age not to go home for Christmas. He was sure Albus had included a sentence <em>somewhere <em>that he was unwanted by the Malfoy family.

"_It's all quite dreadful, mum and dad. Scorpius has been told _not _to come home for the Holidays, and since I'm his best mate, I figured he'd have more fun being subjected to long hours of uncomfortable scrutiny by the heads of house at the Burrow than go it alone. Please say yes, as I would very much like to laugh at him for the entire holiday break. Thanks. Much love, Alby."_

_Al would certainly never sign his name as _Alby, Scorpius thinks.

_And I sound ungrateful..._

He isn't. He is _very _grateful. He is young, but he can imagine what his Grandfather had had planned for him this holiday season – particularly involving the young girl his age.

His grandfather and grandmother hadn't married out of love. Even his parents had been forced into an arrangement due to lineage and money and power. The girl and her parents would undoubtedly be unimpressed at his not showing up – and so would his grandfather –, but he can only imagine that his mother danced around the manor upon receiving his curt reply.

She had always nodded and agreed with Lucius Malfoy when the man opened his mouth, but in the private of their own home she would often tell Scorpius how proud she was that he'd said no when his Grandfather told him eating a stout pudding was the worst meal a man could have.

Or that broccoli was a muggle vegetable.

Or that the Weasleys and Potters were foul _blood _traitors.

He'd earned a slap for that – but it hadn't bothered him. Upsetting his grandfather never really did.

"Well. Pudding not your thing?" comes a firm voice, shocking him from his thoughts and plummeting him back into the present. Scorpius blinks as he finds himself sitting amongst the rabble of the Weasley and Potter clan – although the familiar scene is disrupted by the handful of adults who sit near one end of the table, all wearing knitted sweaters in varying shades of red or green, and looking at him as if he's some sort of mental. The walls of the Burrow loom overhead, leaning down on all sides as if the house itself is also considering him a threat. The voice reiterates: "pudding not your thing?"

Scorpius realizes the question is delivered by Ronald Weasley, the glowering father of Rose and Hugo. A brown haired woman – Hermione, Rose and Hugo's mum – hisses under her breath; "Ron..."

Ron shrugs it off; "just asking the boy a question."

Scorpius nearly scoffs, but he holds his tongue. He's been around too many purebloods, and attended too many of their societal events to see the supposed innocence in Ron's intentions as anything but. No, this is a sort of scare tactic the elder Weasley has concocted, preparing for the day his daughter or a niece brought home a suitor to test if they're the unsavoury sort. That or to see if they simply have backbone.

"I love pudding," Scorpius says before he shoves a spoonful in his mouth. He can practically hear his own father murmuring : _ever the Malfoy. _

Albus nearly chokes on his pumpkin juice from beside him as his uncle mumbles about _pale gits _and _ferrets. _

Scorpius isn't particularly bothered by Mister Weasley, nor the several other Weasleys sitting about the table, staring and gaping at him.

It is finally after several more agonizing minutes that someone – particularly, the younger sister to Fred – looks about the table and asks quite plainly. "Where are Dom and Rosie?"

Several others murmur in agreement.

"Oh," Albus says as if he has only just remembered them. "They're upstairs. Dom was feeling _under the weather _and Rose thought she'd give her a hand."

And that's that. Those whom have shown concern nod and wander back to their respective conversations and meals, and the clan seemingly goes on.

Scorpius tries to catch Al's eye, but the other boy simply shrugs as if nothing is wrong. He knows Al though – the boy has been his best mate for years, and he knows when he's covering for someone.

* * *

><p>It's late in the night when she finally resurfaces.<p>

Nearly everyone has gone to bed, but he and Albus sit up into the night and play game after game of Wizard's Chess. Al is estatic; he's using a _new_set from his Uncle Ron and the weathered pieces already recognize that he's a trustworthy sort to be bossed around by.

Scorpius uses borrowed pieces – borrowed from _Uncle Ron – _and they just mumble and grumble about his blond hair.

"Pale git!" They whisper.

He and Al both chuckle as they try to ignore him, but eventually – begrudgingly – accept his instructions and strategy.

"Ferret face!"

"You should tell them to sod off," comes a voice – and both boys start until they realize it's only Rose; she is standing in the shadows just off the stairs, her hands cradling a mug and her eyes are tired. "Those are dad's new pieces aren't they? Fancy him letting you use them."

"He probably told them to give me trouble," Scorpius shrugs as he picks up one of the discarded pawns; it wiggles and slashes at his fingers with its small stone sword.

Rose smiles – he realizes quite suddenly he's never seen her smile at something he's said. "I wouldn't doubt it," she says.

"How's Dom?"

Scorpius looks at Al, not entirely realizing that _maybe _Al's explanation at dinner had, in fact, been true.

"Heartbroken."

"Who?"

"The culprit this time -" Rose casts Scorpius a dark look "- is Ewan Thomas. Git crushed her..."

Scorpius has to bite his tongue: _again? _He nearly asks.

"That dodgy prat... I knew he was being a _little too friendly _if you know what I mean. He kept following me around the other day – probably hoping I won't convince James to ban him from try-outs next year... or thought I wouldn't hex him to hell when we get back."

Rose barely smiles at this, but she nods in understanding; "yeah, well. Dom's asking for you."

Al is out of his seat and up the stairs quicker than a shot – Rose laughs quietly and Scorpius can't help the sudden feeling of discomfort that crawls up his spine at the sight of Al's retreating back. He hasn't been alone with Rose since second year, when she had fouled up his potion and subsequently blamed him for nearly immolating half the class. Detention for _half _a semester _and _a black eye.

They've never really got on well.

The two of them stand in silence for a few moments before Rose coughs and moves to sit at the long table.

"Isn't that her fourth boyfriend in two months?"

Rose stares at him – her brow furrows.

_Smooth, _he thinks. Not only had he once broken her heart, but he was now inadvertently mocking it.

He opens his mouth to try and salvage whatever remains of the impending conversation, but Rose beats him to it with a sigh. "She loves the idea of love."

And for a moment Scorpius nearly asks her why she has such a sour note in her voice, but he can already imagine the white knuckled fist flying at his nose. Instead; "most girls do."

It is only after he says this that he realizes that it was _precisely _the wrong thing to say. Rose is scoffing – quite loudly – and rolling her eyes at him as if he were some duffer.

"I don't," she says quite tersely.

"Yes, well – _most_ girls."

This seems to sedate her and a silence grows between them. It is cool and long and unending. It sets him on edge, and he wonders when Albus will return and whether Rose even believes in love and if the girl his mother had mentioned was pretty and as whimsical as Dominique Weasley.

"I don't think it exists," he breaks the silence.

Rose looks at him, her eyes scrutinizing and wondering and cool. She doesn't know whether to believe him – that much he can tell.

"You truly believe that." It's not a question.

"I have no reason not too."

"Because it hasn't happened to you?" She wants to argue this, debate it – discuss it. He can see the wildness in her eyes that he has, over the years, become accustomed to seeing from across the room or when she's about her cousins or friends. Rose was once angry – always –, but he realizes then and there that her tone isn't angry, but passionate and ready.

He won't be cowed – not as easily as others of the Weasley-Potter clan quite often are. He has withstood enough of his Grandfather's dark ideologies and tongue lashings and impassioned monologues to reassure him even in the face of a red faced Rose Weasley.

"Because," he retorts. "It hasn't happened to anyone I know."

He thinks of his grandfather and grandmother and of his mother and father.

And he and the girl he's never met.

"One day I'll marry," he says, interrupting Rose before she even opens her mouth. "And it'll be to a girl my grandfather has already chosen. And we'll marry and we'll be happy or we won't... I'm not going to waste my time looking for it when I know I will not find it... Love?" He simply shakes his head, "I have not felt it, nor seen it. I do not think it exists."

And then he pushes away from the table and leaves, but he hears her last words as he turns the corner to his guest room.

"_That is sad even for you, Scorpius Malfoy. Truly."_

**END FOURTH**

* * *

><p>So, it took a while to produce this chapter - entirely due to other projects - and the editing itself was a longer process than usual. The chapter is also significantly longer than the other entries, so I hope that might compensate a little bit for my sloth. I hope the end result is alright.<p>

I'm having a ridiculous amount of fun writing Scorpius and Rose, and exploring how they perceive one another.

Please leave a review!


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